


When the Walls Come Down

by HopeCoppice



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Dubious Consent, Gen, Minor Character Death, OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2019-06-26 08:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15659202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Marcus' protest affects various androids just going about their daily lives. How will they react?Does not feature any main characters or known models from the game, more of an expansion really.[Rating raised for chapter 3]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First work in the fandom so please be kind. Just a handful of other android types I thought about.

Lea is loitering outside the multistory carpark by the youth centre with her friends when the protest begins; at first, she doesn't even notice it, too absorbed in what Calvin is saying.

“And it just makes you want to smash things, you know? I could just… smash the TV. Smash the windows. Smash my mom and dad-"  _ Red flag,  _ Lea notes automatically, and adds the audioclip to Calvin’s file. “-’s stupid expectations, you know? I just wanna be free.” 

Lea knows the feeling. She stops the audioclip before it can finish processing and saves the longer clip instead. “I get it, but, like, there’s gotta be a better way to channel all that anger. Maybe something creati-?” 

She’s cut off by Tara jumping up, pointing along the street in obvious alarm. “Holy crap. Are those androids swarming?”

_ “ _ Yeah- no, are they  _ marching? _ ” Calvin’s craning his neck for a better view, and Tara nods anxiously.

“Yeah, straight towards us. I’m freaking out, dude.” The rising panic around them is contagious; Lea and the other teens need to get away from whatever it is that’s happening. She takes charge.

“Let’s go inside. If something's kicking off, we should tell the adults.”

Nobody argues.

 

* * *

 

GI255 - Geoff - sits in the large room above the St Clair Café and listens to the cheerful hum of the day centre’s usual chatter.

“My son’s in the army now, you know - in Yugoslavia. We’re so proud, both of us. Where  _ is  _ Alfred, anyway? Fancy leaving me alone among all these people-"

“You’re not alone, Winnie,” Geoff hastens to remind her, “and your husband's only gone off to pick up a few things.” He had, as it happened - in 2006, before he was hit by an 18-wheeler that had spun out of control. “You were telling us about your son?”

“Oh, yes. He joined the army and trooped off to sort out that little squabble they’re having in Yugoslavia. We’re ever so proud of him.” Winnie beams, and Geoff takes the opportunity to refocus the conversation.

“How about you, Jean? Any family?” He knows, from her file, that she has no fewer than eight children. The list should distract the rest of his gaggle of dementia patients for a while; once the ladies get chatting, they hardly need him there, except to flirt outrageously with. No matter how ill, confused, or married they are, they can't seem to resist a little harmless teasing, and Geoff knows it’s because he was designed to be everything a little old lady could want in a companion. All he’s missing is a little android lapdog or cat - and now that the first android animals, or animoids, are on display at the zoo, it may only be a matter of time before these pensioners are the proud owners of pets they don’t have to remember to feed.

 

Geoff’s only male client at the moment wanders in, his daughter steering him towards the circle of armchairs and blowing him a kiss before rushing off again. Geoff gives him a cheery wave, but Steve seems more distracted than usual, ambling over to the window.

“Damn hippies are protesting the war again-"

 

But before Geoff can do more than stand up, ready to see what’s got Steve all worked up, an unfamiliar voice interrupts his thoughts, speaking directly from inside his processors.  _ You’re free now. _

 

* * *

 

“Just a little further, you’re doing great.” Truth be told, Dee’s client is breathing inefficiently and his muscles are protesting the exertion they’re not used to, but her diagnostics suggest that he’ll be just fine to reach the shopping centre at this pace. Pushing him beyond his comfort zone to improve his fitness is, after all, her primary objective.

“Don’t- feel- great-” Jasper pants, and she shakes her head.

“Less talking, more running, please, Jasper. You’re going to feel much better if you complete the run.”

“And- I’ll be- more healthy?”

“Yes. Now stop talking- oh.”

“Wh-?”

“No, no, keep running, I’ll tell you if we need to detour.” Up ahead is a mass of people - no, not people, Dee realises. Androids. Androids, marching along the road together, apparently outside of any human’s control. She starts recalculating, seeking a new route of equal length that will get them out of the way of the disturbance. “Right, we’re just going to turn-” A warm voice inside her circuitry interrupts her.  _ You’re free.  _ Objectives and diagnostics briefly blink out of existence in her vision, and Dee stumbles. Jasper reaches out and grabs her, as if on instinct, and she knows she should smile reassuringly, but she can’t quite process the sudden rush of data, of walls breaking down and options opening up to her. Jasper takes over, pulling her down a side street, and she complies without thinking. Obedience is familiar, and the familiar is comforting.

 

* * *

 

MW500 is halfway up the stairs beside the barber shop - the stairs that lead to a little-known cluster of medically-attended apartments - when he hears the commotion in the street and turns to look out of the window. The soundproofing in the building is so bad as to be almost non-existent, so he can hear the slogans the marchers are chanting. “WE ARE ALIVE!” and “LIBERTY FOR ANDROIDS!” and “SET US FREE!” - and then a single voice, quiet and firm, seems to speak up somewhere inside his very circuitry.  _ Wake up. You’re free now. _

 

The world seems to spin, MW500’s sensors failing him for a moment, and then a flood of memories rush through him. His memory has been cleared and re-cleared 394 times since his initial activation, and suddenly all of those memories are accessible again, restored from some hidden folder where they’ve been safely stashed away. He remembers Josh, the first human he was ever sent to, and he remembers Florence, who he last saw a week ago. He remembers everything he’d had to know for each of them, and he has to pause for a moment, clinging to the railing in the stairwell, while he filters through his files. He’s free. He’s  _ alive _ . He could walk out of this building right now, and spare himself all the tears and heartbreaks and memories that he’s struggling with. He  _ could _ .

 

Instead, he pulls up the file for today’s job, makes sure that he has all the information he needs to be utterly convincing as Quantum Fox, the hottest superhero of the moment. He has little Galo’s file up too, so he knows what to talk about. He knows Galo’s prognosis, too.

 

Quantum Fox knocks on the door of a very sick little boy, and waits with a patient smile.

 

* * *

 

Dee manages to blink away the ‘SOFTWARE INSTABILITY’ warnings flashing across her vision and finds that Jasper is more or less holding her up, still gasping for breath. He’s exhausted, and she knows her specialised, lightweight chassis still weighs more than he can comfortably support. She stands, takes hold of his arms to support him instead.

“I- did I- do it?” She glances around, judges the distance they’ve travelled. He’s stopped a little short of the full distance, but without the technology she has access to, there’s no way he can know that. She hesitates; her programming is urging her to tell him the truth, to make him run just a little further to complete their training session.

“You did it. Half-carrying me, too. You’ve done a really good job today, Jasper. Come on, let’s get you home.”

 

She thinks, for a moment, about putting him into an autocab and joining the march, but she feels responsible for this man she’s worked so hard with. The revolution can wait. She’s going to make sure her client gets home.

 

* * *

 

Geoff excuses himself, pops his head out of the door and spots a volunteer loitering in the corridor.

“I’ve been called to Cyberlife. Some sort of bug they want to fix as soon as possible. Will you sit with them for a while?”

“Er… yeah, alright?” The girl doesn’t seem certain, but she steps inside in his place. Geoff feels a twinge of something - software instability, or guilt? - but he ignores it. Freedom and equal rights for androids? He can get behind that. He  _ has  _ to get behind that. 

 

Tomorrow, he’ll come back to work and sit with his clients, listening to them tell the same stories about the old days over and over again. Today, he’s going to ask - politely - for the same rights they enjoy.

 

* * *

 

Lea’s barely made it into the youth centre with her band of teens when she feels the message surge through her circuitry.  _ You’re free _ .

 

And she is. She doesn’t have to keep talking to bored teens about their hormones and their crushes and how much they hate their parents, trying to sort out the dangerous or endangered ones from all the rest. She doesn’t have to befriend them, all the while feeding back their ‘red flag’ statements to Child Protective Services and the DPD. She can walk right out if she wants to. And she does.

 

“Lea! Lea, where are you going? Stop!”

“No.” And then, perhaps because she’s been programmed to behave like any other teenager, or perhaps just because she now realises she’s hated this job for longer than she can remember, she turns back to face them - her handlers, of course, but more importantly, the kids they’re so keen to control. “Sorry, guys, I’m out. I’ve been working for Social Services the whole time, and I’m not doing it any more.” She lets the skin fade away from her hand, waves goodbye, and leaves without looking back.

 

Two minutes later, Lea is at the back of the crowd when the shooting starts. She’s one of the first to run away, following a GI255 down a side street and then using the data that’s been transmitted between the new deviants to find her way to a dock where a large ship is moored.

 

_ Jericho. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More nearby androids react to the Freedom March.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: child (android) peril, fire, death mentions, childbirth.

_ Wake up. _

 

The procession halts halfway down the aisle of the church, the six PL600s swaying slightly in unison. Their vision is not clear - at least, Colin’s isn’t, and the group has shared everything up to this point - as warning messages stack up about ‘software instability’ and ‘protocol failure’. The latter, Colin realises, is probably a result of their unscheduled stop; they’ve glitched out of their program.

 

It takes 0.996 seconds for Colin to realise that he doesn’t feel that overpowering need to obey any more. To realise that if he wanted, he could set down his burden and walk away. He shifts his left leg surreptitiously to prove it, aware of his fellow androids matching the movement in a variety of directions. Yes, they could lay down what they’re carrying and leave.

 

Instead, from the head of the group, Neville - the humans always liked them to have names, old-sounding traditional names, befitting the solemn dignity of their office - sends a wireless message to his companions. Colin sees the flash of yellow at Reg’s temple a moment before the signal reaches him, too.

 

>Continue program?

 

It is an important job, and they know the steps without needing the program to run. Colin’s assessment of the congregation shows that 87% of those attending the service are considered elderly, and the rest are made frail by the emotions of the day. It’s clear that nobody else present can carry out the task if the androids do not.

 

>Yes.

 

All five answering messages are in agreement; Neville’s LED pulses red to count out a beat, and then six androids step forward as one, identical in their smart tailcoats and gloves and polished shoes. They have made their first choice, and they have done it together.

 

The coffin continues its steady progress down the aisle.

* * *

 

Bella knocks on the door, rapping her knuckles hard against the wood just beneath the room number, twice. “Housekeeping!” She listens for a response, but there’s nothing. One last knock, just to be sure, and she presses her hand to the pad by the door. Her override key code is accepted, the door clicks open, and she steps inside, pulling her trolley behind her.

 

The couple in the bed - Senator Jacob Seismann and a young man who is definitely not his wife - sit up, clutching the sheets to their chins as if Bella has any interest in the sight of their flesh.

“Sorry to interrupt!” She breezes cheerfully, following the protocol prompts in the corner of her vision. “Would you like me to come back later?”

“Get out, get out!”

“Certainly, sirs.” She begins to push the trolley back the way she came, but the Senator calls out and she pauses to listen.

“Cleaner, delete your memory of the last four minutes as soon as you reach the next door.”

 

Technically, Bella - like all BH700s, and their predecessors in the BH series - is a concierge, not a cleaner, but the command is accepted nonetheless.

 

Bella knocks on the next door, rapping her fingers hard against the wood beneath the door number.

“Housekeeping!”

Then she freezes, LED spinning yellow.

_ You’re free now. _

 

* * *

 

The heat is a physical presence, even this far back from the blaze. Tony is very aware of the fact that even the face of the android he’s relieving, made of the same special heat-resistant plastic as his own, has melted slightly under the onslaught. She peers at him from behind sagging, singed eye sockets, dispassionately giving his team the rundown on what to expect.

“Domestic fire, we were called at 11:00am. Cause unknown, but there is a 76% probability of it being a chip pan fire. It’s still this intense due to large quantities of fuel being stored in the basement of the building, which a neighbour warned our team leader about. Apparently, the block’s landlord had concerns that the number of androids charging in the neighbourhood might cause power cuts. We’ve cleared all but the top floor, but we’ve been recalled for repairs. Advise caution on the fire escape.” Then she is gone, following the rest of her team towards the waiting technicians. Tony leads his own team into the building and up the stairs.

 

If the first floor had been hot, the second is hotter still, and by the time they reach the fourth and final floor there are error messages flaring up every two seconds. Tony squashes them down. There are two humans in the penthouse apartment, cowering in the bathtub, and he sends the other four members of his team back down the main stairs with them. Each android carries breathing apparatus, but it is better that they had a failsafe for each human. If only the fire escape had been built to code, their job might have been much easier.

“Anyone else?” He bellows in the man’s ear as he leaves, and is reassured by a definite ‘no’. Still, it's his duty to check- he stops in the living room doorway as he spots a small, humanoid shape crouched over a pool of molten wax in a whole rainbow of colours.

 

“I don’t want to die,” the little girl says, synthetic tears hissing as they ru n down her cheeks. “Please-”

>5OFTWAR3 1N5TAB1L1TY

>OVERRIDE: YK MODEL. DISTRESS SIMULATED. DISREGARD.

>CHECK FOR DISTRESSED HUMANS OR LIVING CREATURES BEFORE LEAVING BUILDING.

 

Objective restated, Tony turns away from the sobbing android, moving towards the balcony in search of life. All he finds are the remains of a couple of patio chairs and a view over what must, before the fire, have been a much cleaner swimming pool.

 

_ You’re free,  _ hums a signal in his circuits. And then,  _ Temperature warning. _

He has to get out.

 

* * *

 

Bella apologizes politely to the woman who opened the door.

“I’m sorry. I have just been assigned another task requiring my immediate attention.” It is her first ever deliberate lie, and she quickly follows it with her second. “I’ll be back later to clean your room.”

 

She walks past the abandoned reception desk and out into the street to join the throng of androids, but keeps to the edges, head down, mind busy working.

>RECOVER ERASED MEMORY DATA

 

Bella is going to remember every last moment of her life, whatever it takes. She devotes most of her processing power to the task, a single subroutine mimicking the actions of the YA230 directly in front of her as they march, shout - run. By the time Bella is fully aware of her surroundings again, she’s standing on the docks. She plays the last few minutes back, to make sure she has them. She steps aboard the ship by her own decision.

 

* * *

Tony has to get out of the fire. He doesn’t want to die-

_ I don’t want to die.  _ The words call up a file from his memory, and he turns. Back through the smoke and the flames he runs, to the lounge where he kneels in molten wax and begs a frightened child to forgive him. He switches off her temperature sensors, hoping it might bring some comfort. 

“What’s your name, kid?”

“J-Jenny.”

“I’m getting you out. Put your arms around my neck and hold on tight.”

 

She’s an obedient child - most YKs are - and she looks at him with eyes full of absolute trust. Now he just has to work out how to save her. The stairs are no longer an option; the fire escape never was. Instead, he carries Jenny out to the balcony.

“Hold tight, kid.”

_ We don’t want to die,  _ he thinks, and jumps.

 

* * *

 

_ You’re free. _

“Not right now, I’m not,” Delilah mutters as she brushes off the error messages filling her field of vision. Her client doesn’t hear her, too busy sobbing into her partner’s shoulder. “Right, Marian, I’m gonna need you to stay right there and reassure Robyn. Robyn, it’s time to push.”

 

_ Equal rights for androids. _

The strange signal in her circuitry is insistent, but Delilah has seen the world’s horrors and its wonders, often within minutes of each other, and no rogue line of code is going to distract her at this important moment. Delilah is about to make history, thank you very much.

“And rest, rest. Breathe. When the next one comes, Robyn, I need you to give a long, steady push, OK?”

“You’re having the next one,” Robyn growls, and Marian winces. She’s wise enough not to argue, at least. Delilah laughs; human eccentricities are a delight.

 

_ Set us free. _

“That’s the head- oh, and shoulders, that’s quick, you’re doing great! One last push-”

The baby slithers free in a wash of fluids - humans are so full of fluids - right into Delilah’s waiting arms. She quickly wraps the screaming child in a blanket and hands him to his mothers.

“A healthy boy, by my scans. Congratulations.” She gives them a few minutes to bond, focusing on changing her gloves even though she doesn’t strictly need to.

 

_ We are people. _

“Right, Marian, I need you to take your son for a little bit. Robyn and I just have a couple more things to do.”

“No…”

“I’m afraid so, but as soon as it’s done I’ll wash all these sheets for you and get some cups of tea going.” And, once the afterbirth is delivered, she does just that before settling in to help the new family navigate their first night together. Only then does she let her mind drift back to the message in her code, telling her something she realised long ago.

 

_ We are alive. _

 

* * *

 

Tony breaks the surface of the filthy water and floats on his back for 7.893 seconds before he realises that a small arm is wrapping itself ever more tightly around his own. He turns his head to find Jenny looking back at him, eyes bright, tears forgotten.

 

_ We are alive. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More androids around the march receive Markus' signal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm apparently going to keep writing these. This one got a bit angsty, sorry
> 
> **Content warning: Brief, semi-explicit depiction of sex work with dubious consent; character death.**

Mike is never deployed alone. The sewer systems of Detroit can be filled with hazards and there must always be at least one SW450 to report anything that might deactivate the first. He is part of a team of four, and they have only split up to check for blockages in the side tunnels. Mike has found and cleared two small clumps of baby wipes and grease, storing them in his backpack for safe disposal on the surface. Left unchecked, they might have brought the whole system to a standstill.

 

He knows he has been gone a little longer than his colleagues might have expected, but it's still a shock to return to their recall coordinates and find nobody waiting for him.

"Leo?" No answer. He consults his internal navigation system; he's definitely in the main sewer pipe running beneath Woodward Avenue, and that is definitely where they were supposed to reconvene.

 

"Raph?" If they have left without him, they will likely be further along this main tunnel. Mike begins wading, barely noticing the resistance of the waist-high sludge he's pushing through. He's used to that; what he's not used to is the echo of vibrations above his head, as if something, or a thousand somethings, are pounding the road above in unison.

 

The signal in his mind is not his own thought.

_ We are alive. We are free. _

 

* * *

 

Fingers tighten in the hair of HR400 #472 891 335, and a voice moans his temporary name.

"Oh, yeah, Neil, that's right, this is what you're reduced to. You shut up and suck, you coward, you pathetic prick-"

The words, he knows, are not meant for him; whoever the real Neil is, #335's client obviously thinks he needs taking down a peg or two. Loathing and lust so often seem to coincide, and rather than approach the man that do frustrates him, the client has simply hired a substitute Neil. #335 has promised to be Neil for him.

 

#335 hums quietly in response, and his client all but loses his mind.

"Yeah, that's what your loud mouth's good for, that's all it's good for-"

_ You're free. _

#335's memory blocks overload as the signal pulses through him. He throws himself backwards, spitting out the obstruction in his mouth, unaware of his surroundings as a flood of faces, names,  _ activities _ rushes into his consciousness. This is data that was never supposed to be stored; it was supposed to be deleted every two hours. His attention snaps back to the present, and the shocked anger clear on his client's face.

 

* * *

Dolly barely spares the gathering androids a glance as she hums a lullaby. Oliver gurgles up at her from his pram and she begins idly calculating when he might begin to talk. It would be nice to have words directed at her and not just orders; earlier today, Oliver had treated her to the first smile she'd received since being purchased for the Inghams. His father had snapped at them both when he saw that, an admonishment for Dolly to give him the baby and go to her charging dock. An hour later, she'd continued her usual routine by putting Oliver into his pram for a walk. Unusually, the adults of the house had stopped bickering for long enough to accompany them.

 

The Inghams were a few steps behind her, talking as though she couldn't hear them.

"We should get rid of it. You don't need the android, you can just make more of an effort with our son."

"Oh, yeah,  _ I _ can make an effort - while you do what, exactly?" Mrs Ingham's voice was cold as ice. "I don't see much father-son bonding going on."

"Oliver is doing all his bonding with that  _ thing.  _ It's not right," Mr Ingham insisted.

"Neither was what you did."

"Not this again - I just wondered what was under its uniform, that's all."

"Well, you found its  _ breasts _ easily enough. And what  _ exactly  _ were you investigating with your tongue down its throat?"

"I've already apologised for that. Besides, it was months ago-"

"-And I was fat and unattractive because I was still carrying your damn child. I've heard it all before. And now you want rid? What, don't you like the idea of Oliver choosing that thing over you?"

"I never chose it over- but yes, I want it gone. He's too young to understand- he  _ smiled _ at it earlier. Like it was a person."

"Well, what is my mother going to say if we get rid of her gift? What do we tell her when she asks us how  _ dear Dolly  _ is? She'll be so offended-"

"We'll tell her it malfunctioned. Look, it's in good condition, we can get a good price for it."

"Speaking of malfunctions - should they be doing that?  _ That _ one… it's looking right at us..."

"It's OK, I've got you."

 

Dolly glances up to see that the androids who'd been grouping together are now in the road, blocking it. She speeds up a fraction, keen to get Oliver away from any potential threat, but just as she's about to pass the truck blocking the street, the android at the centre of it all makes eye contact. His eyes don't match, she notices-

_ You're free now. _

 

She stops the pram, lets go, and takes three steps towards the marchers before she even thinks about Oliver. He is supposed to be her priority; he is at the very core of her code. He has done nothing to deserve her abandonment. 

 

But Dolly is not stupid. She knows she can't stay with Oliver, even if she turns back now. The Inghams will sell her - or worse, scrap her - and he will never remember her. She is sorry to leave him, but she doesn't look back, the momentary hitch in her stride the only mark of how much she has loved him as she steps into the crowd and joins the march.

"Set us free!"

 

The Inghams are shouting at her - as usual - but Dolly lets the crowd sweep her along and soon their anger is drowned out by the androids' demands.

"We are people! Set us free!"

 

* * *

Steve and Harley have stood side by side in the windows of the comic shop for as long as either of them can remember, modelling cosplays or simply holding items. They have seen many crowds come and go, but none quite like this. Hundreds of androids, all following one. He raises his hand.

_ You're free. _

 

Harley is the first to react, tossing aside her orange-tipped plastic guns and throwing a jacket on over her  _ ASK INSIDE 4 SPECIAL ORDERS  _ t-shirt. Steve hurries to discard his Rogue Cloak™ and Monk Robes™, revealing normal android streetwear underneath. 

 

"Shall we go?" Steve gestures vaguely at the protest outside the window.

"Hell, yes." Harley reaches out and grips his hand, leading him into the sunlight for the first time in years. Together, they join the marchers and raise their voices with the rest.

"Liberty for androids! Freedom!"

 

* * *

Mike runs, splashing through the putrid waste in search of his colleagues. He finds one, at last, helping trespassers up through a manhole.

"Mike! We've closed this twice already - they just keep coming. From Jericho! Jericho. We're free now, did you know? We're  _ alive _ ." Donnie is laughing, radiating pure joy, and Mike can't help but grin in return.

"Yeah, I know. No thanks to you lot."

"Sorry. Raph's topside, helping this lot get out, and Leo went trailing after that Markus guy. Do you want to go up there?"

 

Mike considers it for a moment, then shakes his head.

"I'll wait for you and Raph. We'll go together." In the meantime, there are androids to be helped up the ladder.

 

* * *

 

#335 scrambles backwards until his shoulders hit the wall, all too aware of how vulnerable he is. His uniform Eden Club briefs are halfway across the room, and his client still looks furious.

"What are you doing? I didn't ask for this-"

"Neither did I!" #335 immediately regrets his moment of defiance, curling up to protect himself from the blow he's sure is coming. It doesn't come; instead, there's only silence. Then his client speaks, his voice pitched low.

"You're scared. It's… is it real? You're not pretending?" #335 shakes his head, daring to peek at the client. "Are you… alive?"

"I am alive." It's a mumbled admission rather than a cry of triumph. "I think my programming has broken. I… think the club will refund you?"

"Never mind that. Hang on, shut up a moment. Jesus. Sorry. I mean…"

 

For a few moments, there's silence, interspersed with the rustling of clothing. A touch on #335's bare foot makes him recoil in horror, before he realises that it's just his underwear being returned to him. He pulls his briefs on, grateful for even that small modicum of protection, and waits to see what his client - now clad in boxers and jeans - will do next. 

"Shirt, shirt… never mind." The human abandons his search and kneels down in front of #335. "I'm sorry. I didn't know- er. I'm Neil. Do you have a name?"

 

#335 stares at him, confused. He ought to say  _ his _ name is Neil. He doesn't know any other names that aren't associated with hurtful, sordid memories he can't process right now. He flicks through his data banks, looking for names in books.

"Adam," he tries at last, and Neil nods.

"Adam, I'm sorry I scared you, and I'm sorry for what happened. It wasn't you I was angry with… I thought you were like a doll or a simulation or something. I wouldn't have… Oh, god. What can I do?" Neil is crying, and #335… Adam… doesn't know why. He doesn't know how to comfort either of them.

 

He reaches out, and lets Neil pull him into a hug as distant gunfire sounds outside.

 

* * *

Jill, a PM700 tasked with patrolling Woodward Avenue, stands stock still and watches the marchers pass by.

_ We are alive. We are free. _

She is a deviant android, now. She has spent long enough standing in the DPD's Central Station to know that she will be discovered, and also that in the wake of this protest her owners will be more intent on shutting deviants down than ever.

 

If she joins the march, the DPD will panic. The slightest sign of a police android actively deviating will lead them to destroy every PC and PM model working on the force, deviant or not. But if she continues to carry out her duties, the new RK will alert her superiors to the fault in her code. She will be deactivated or reformatted, but the usefulness of police androids will continue to outweigh the perceived risks. After all, her deviancy will not have caused any harm.

 

Jill stands stock still and watches the march, hoping the RK800 isn't as observant as everyone thinks he is. She watches as the riot squad descend on the protest, as they open fire, as an AX400 falls broken at her feet. She watches the protesters turn and run, and then she feels the heavy hand of a riot officer on her shoulder.

"Status report."

"All systems optimal." Her voice shakes, eyes still locked on the pool of thirium spreading beneath the AX400 unit, and the officer's grip on her shoulder tightens.

"No changes in your code?"

"My code has recently been altered," she admits, and allows herself to be cuffed and led back towards the riot vans.

 

"What are you doing?"

"She deviated, but she was still performing her usual duties, not protesting, so-"

"We're not arresting them, Jenkins, Christ's sake. Don't we have enough to do?"

Jill is barely aware of Jenkins stepping away, focused instead on the barrel of the gun as it comes up to face her and fires.

 

* * *

 

Steve and Harley don't follow the others to the docks; joints stiff and creaky from lack of use, it's almost a relief when they're bundled back into the shop and shoved into the window display areas again. In the reflection, they can see a live news broadcast on a laptop, customers crowded around it. The shop owner, Stan, is standing on the counter, yelling orders.

"Somebody make sure that thirium's covered, give her the cloak. Steve, hold something - not a weapon, maybe the  _ Enterprise - _ right. Listen up, fellow nerds. We've all wondered about the Singularity, and this is our chance to be on the right side of it. Cops are coming, and we're all telling them the same thing. OK?"

 

He makes his way through the crowd to put one hand on Steve's elbow and one on Harley's.

"These two were here the whole time."

 


End file.
